


Stimulated in the Ass by My Handsome Philosopher

by Chianine



Category: Tingleverse - Chuck Tingle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 14:26:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13055832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chianine/pseuds/Chianine
Summary: Chuck goes to TEDx.





	Stimulated in the Ass by My Handsome Philosopher

**Author's Note:**

  * For [norabombay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/norabombay/gifts).



Most people seem to expect the life of an award-nominated science fiction erotica author to be full of excitement, sex, and glamour. They are often surprised to find out that I am just another suburban dad from Billings, Montana with a white picket fence and a chocolate milk addiction. How then, they wonder, do I find inspiration for stories that tingle the hearts and buttholes of so many? Unfortunately, this world doesn't offer the inspiration I need for my unique brand of erotica. Where on Earth can a man go to watch a sweaty unicorn gang bang, or see a young bigfoot twink learn his body for the first time? For these and similar fantasies, I have only my imagination to rely on.

To explore the depths of my fertile imagination and find the next ground-breaking tingler, I need a lot of alone time. My day starts with a long meditation, tuning the vibrations of my mind, butthole, and heart all to the same frequency. After that, several large glasses of chocolate milk are required to get the creative juices flowing. This phase of the process means I need to stay close to a toilet. If the chocolate milk hits me just right, it sends me into a hallucinatory trance from which I can often retrieve an entire tingler in one sitting.

After the creative brainstorming the real work has to begin. I usually spend at least eight hours a day writing, often more. Every tingler goes through several development phases, ensuring the highest quality in mental, emotional and anal stimulation. Considering the fact that I alone carry the work from conception to publication (except for son name of Jon who acts as my assistant during the final editing phase,) it may now be possible to see why I live such a solitary life. I have little time for fun and adventure, as my prolific oeuvre surely demonstrates.

To maximize the output of high-quality, love-proving sexual dramas for my fan base, I have admittedly sacrificed my personal life. I barely have time for son name of Jon and his new wife, let alone any friends or heaven forbid, a lover. How could I juggle the needs of a tingle-starved public with those of an intimate partner? The truth is, in spite of the lengthy and very explicit descriptions in my love scenes, I have never had a gay romantic experience. Outside of sweet Barbara, my love life has been as barren as the icy lake she died in. Many people find this hard to believe, in light of how passionate and realistic my erotic prose is, but these are often the same people who underestimate the power of human imagination. 

Is this to say that I am not interested in experiencing gay passion myself first-hand? Of course not. But how can I find time for a courtship, or even a hot one-night stand, at the expense of my professional responsibilities? No, it's just not an option for a dedicated man like myself. I have long ago resigned myself to the life of the solitary, devoted author. Nothing, not even my own deepest desires, will stop me from proving that love is real through my art.

And there it is. Except for the occasional, involuntary twinge of loneliness, this outlook has served me well. That is, until I got the notice in my email in box last week about an upcoming TEDx event here in Billings. That was the day my life changed forever. 

 

That day started like any other. I woke up, donned my gi, and headed downstairs for a giant plate of spaghetti. I could see the screensaver on my computer flashing out of the corner of my eye as I made my way to the kitchen, but I decided not to think about work until I had properly nourished myself. After breakfast I tended to the daily grind: Twitter, Amazon, and of course, Gmail. That's when I saw it – the invitation. TEDx itself was coming to the great state of Montana, and none other than yours truly was expected to be there. It made sense, seeing as they were as interested in spreading new ideas as I was, but I am a naturally shy person with no taste for public speaking. I bit my lip and opened the email. 

It was sure to be a magnificent event and all the intellectual greats would be there: Beil deGrasse-Tyson, Elons Mugg, Ray Kurzweip, and my personal favorite, the legendary philosopher, Mick Buttstrom. Professor Buttstrom is best known for his controversial Stimulation Hypothesis, which I confess is an alluringly elegant theory of reality, but I find his more recent work in existential threats much more love-proving and therefore relevant to my own ideas. Either way, I'm thrilled at the prospect of meeting him and now I know I'll have to get in shape.

Luckily, I'm only being asked to attend, so after a sigh of relief I get on the horn to let son name of Jon in on the good news. 

“This is a very beautiful way,” I say to him, even though he's at work and those darn marbles are going in the corner again, “your father is being given a rare honor, and this time there's no devils or even scoundrels involved so you don't have to worry.”

“Well, okay Chuck,” son name of Jon says, “but be careful out there on your own.”

“I know, son name of Jon,” I say, “I will behave myself and make you a proud son in front of all these intellectuals and philosophers.”

It was only a week until the big night so I dropped the spaghetti and chocolate milk in favor of a juice diet to bring out my jawline and abs. When Friday rolled around, I was as chiseled as my handsome son, with rippling abs and hard pecs perfect for horsing around with your dad in a normal way.

The Billings Civic Center was in rare form for the event. Searchlights and red carpet greeted me at the entrance as I rolled up in son name of Jon's truck, dressed to the nines in a new gi, sunglasses, and the signature paper bag over my head.

“Well, I guess this is where we part ways, Chuck,” son name of Jon says, “remember to mind your manners during the speeches and stay away from chocolate milk at all costs. You can't trust strange milk.”

“Yes, son name of Jon,” I say, but of course I am crossing my fingers.

Inside the auditorium the lights are low and people are speaking in whispers. The two chocolate milks I slammed in the lobby are starting to kick in, but I manage to find my seat before things get too out of control. 

Finally the host comes onstage to introduces the night's speakers. I'm still reeling from the chocolate milk, so I use the opportunity to look around and get my bearings straight. That's when I see him – Mick Buttstrom, and gasp out loud. People hush me but I can't hear them because I am frozen and Mick Buttstrom is _staring directly at me._ His piercing blue eyes are penetrating my soul and he is looking devilishly handsome in a pair of khakis and a tight polo shirt that is screaming to be ripped off him. This is the most gorgeous philosopher I have ever seen.

When I can force myself to, I turn back toward the stage and catch my breath. I can still feel his eyes on me, and between that sexy, raptor-like stare and the chocolate milk coursing through my veins, I can barely contain myself. I burst out of my seat and rush to the restroom.

I tear the bag off my head and douse my face with cold water, then walk over to the urinal and begin releasing a stream of urine from my body. Behind me, I can hear someone enter the restroom and position himself next to me at the urinal. As I am reminding myself of the promise to son name of Jon that I would behave, I hear a sexy Scandinavian voice.

“I guess I'm not the only one who can't resist all the free chocolate milk.”

I am rooted to the spot, literally unable to move. The steady stream of urine coming from me went dry as soon as Mick Buttstrom's honeyed voice filled the air. 

“I hope you don't mind,” Mick speaks again, then immediately undoes his fly and pulls out an enormous meaty cock swirled with brilliant blue veins like a candy cane. I lick my lips and stare helplessly.

Professor Buttstrom groans wantonly as his own hot stream of urine surges from his length. As I watch, I suddenly realize for the first time that I'm not wearing my bag. Mick Buttstrom has seen my bare face! Mortified, I grab my bag and rush out of the restroom.

The evening's talks are all amazing and I almost manage to forget about the unfortunate event in the restroom. Mick Buttstrom is, of course, the keynote speaker and his words, especially concerning the possibility of human extinction at the hands of a hostile AI, move the entire audience to tears. Twice during his talk he makes eye contact with me, and both times I feel my butthole spasm uncontrollably. He received a standing ovation and was literally showered with applause. 

After the ovation, the audience rushes toward the stage, desperate to shake hands with the brilliant hunk. I wanted to use the opportunity to slip away and see if I could get a few more chocolate milks in me before son name of Jon picked me up, but someone had other ideas.

“Dr. Tingle!” I hear a sexy voice shout, and whirl around to see Buttsrom himself, surrounded by admirers, shouting over their heads in my direction. He repeated the call.

Suddenly I am the center of attention, as this stunningly handsome academic seems to care for no one in the world besides me. 

Professor Buttstrom pushes his way toward me. “Dr. Tingle, I hope you weren't planning on leaving us just yet. I know the event was rather short-notice so you didn't have time to prepare a talk, but my friends and I would love to have you join us for our exclusive after party.” The brainy heartthrob lays a tender hand on my shoulder and pulls me away from the crowd. “If I'm being completely honest,” he says shyly, his features cutely going from vulpine to kittenish in a single moment, “I planned this event specifically to meet you, Dr. Tingle. I'm actually a big fan.”

“ _You_ planned this event?” I ask, astonished.

“Yes, I told Beil and Elons how much your work meant to me, and how badly I wanted to discuss with you your ideas of the Tingleverse, but that I would never be able to meet with you because your work takes up all of your time.”

I begin to stammer, quite flattered, but Buttstrom goes on.

“Elons suggested that I should bring myself to you if you couldn't be torn away from Billings. He said we should plan a TED event, since no one can resist these things!”

“That's certainly true,” I agree, still in stark disbelief that this all was planned just for me.

“Well, you're certainly worth it, Dr. Tingle,” Buttstrom winks, and this time his bedroom eyes are undeniable. 

I can't help blushing and am grateful for the bag. Trying to steer the conversation away from myself, I say, “You're a great philosopher, Professor Buttstrom, and I think I speak for all of Billings when I say that we are glad you came, no matter what your reason is.” 

“Like I said, Chuck, the reason was you,” the gorgeous instructor grins, “and please, call me Mick.”

“Okay, Mick,” I say, still blushing.

“I'm starving,” Mick says, touching my shoulder a second time. “Do you like surf n turf?”

Elons and Beil, who are Mick's best friends, had been waiting in a limousine behind the civic center. We ride to Billings' best steakhouse and have a wonderful evening of fine dining and even finer conversation. Elons and Beil are not only brilliant, handsome men at the tops of their professions, they are also kind-hearted, thoughtful friends who care dearly for Mick and clearly harbor no resentment of his genius. I consider how special Mick must be to have such valuable friends, and how lucky a man or woman would be to win this sexy educator's heart.

Throughout the delicious meal, Mick keeps glancing over at me, and I can't help feeling that something is growing between us. Even with the bag over my head, I can sense an energy flow between our minds, a bond that is slowly building. Beil and Elons can sense it too.

“I don't know about you, Elons,” Beil says, looking over slyly at his friend, “but I'm all tuckered out. I wanted to do some karaoke and bowling while I was here in Billings but that talk really took it out of me. I think I'm going to go back to the hotel and hit the hay.”

“I'm with you,” Elons says, turning to Buttstrom, “I guess that means you have Dr. Tingle all to yourself, Mick. Try to behave yourself.”

Mick laughs and playfully tosses his napkin in Elons' face. I can already tell that this night is going to get even more magical.

At the bowling ally, I discover that Mick is as fun as he is inspired and beautiful. I can't help wishing that I could have this Scandinavian god by my side for all eternity. Later, at the karaoke bar, we both let our guard down and go hog wild with the chocolate milk. Suddenly everything starts feeling rushed.

“You know,” Mick says, drawling as the sixth chocolate milk has surely gone to his head, “I don't know why you're still wearing that bag on your head since I already saw your face about a thousand words ago.”

Mick's comment strikes me as strange but I don't have time to think about it since I am immediately called to the stage to sing my favorite karaoke number, Ginuwine's _Pony_. During the number, Mick joins me and together we perform a dance that I can only interpret as foreplay.

Back at Mick's penthouse suite, we finally get around to more serious conversation.

“Chuck, I've been meaning to ask you,” Mick starts, twirling a champagne flute between his fingers, “do you see a connection between your theory of the Tingleverse and my Stimulation Hypothesis?”

“I think the parallels are clear,” I respond. “In the Tingleverse, every human decision gives birth to a new timeline. Every timeline can be seen as cards in an infinite deck. Stacked on top of each other, every layer is gayer than the next until you reach the tingularity...”

“Brilliant...” Mick interrupts absently, with a touching pride in his voice.

I go on, “No one knows how many layers exist, but the beings on each layer assume theirs is the top, since the human imagination can only perceive a world more gay than their own. The human imagination is incapable of conceiving of a world less gay, and softer than their own...”

“Precisely, I can't agree more,” Mick nodded vociferously. “So many people don't take that factor into account. Even the best thinkers often fail to recognize this...”

“... and therefore it must be true that there are an infinite number of worlds, all believing they are the top layer, dreaming all the more tingly layers. If ours one of infinite layers, than in all probability we are not the top layer of reality and therefore almost certainly characters in one of my stories.”

“The truth is as elegant as your articulation of it,” Mick says, and the look he gives me is so loaded with homosexual longing that I nearly forget the terrifying implication of my words. 

“Similarly, the Stimulation Hypothesis states that unless human beings become the architects of their own destruction, their digital future will contain an infinite number of ancestor stimulators, and that in all likelihood, we are not real, but only one of those being stimulated by post-human descendants.”

“Some people may take that view to mean that morality is irrelevant since reality is only stimulated.”

“No,” I counter, “proving love is real in your timeline is life's greatest purpose, regardless of your stimulated status or relative nearness to the Tingularity.”

“I agree,” Mick says, throwing back the rest of his glass, “and I think it's time the two of us stopped beating around the bush and got to proving a little love ourselves.”

I'm suddenly taken off guard. “I don't know what you mean,” I stammer.

“No more games, Chuck,” Mick sighs. “We're both men of the world. Did you think I wouldn't notice the gay lust twinkling in your eyes every time you look at me?”

“Well, I -”

“It's okay, Chuck. You don't have to explain. All you have to do is let it happen.”

Suddenly I can hear crinkling and realize that Mick has reached forward and pulled the bag off my head. I feel naked, exposed.

“You're a beautiful man, Chuck. You shouldn't hide behind that paper bag.”

I shut my eyes as Mick leans forward. He presses his lips to mine and fireworks go off in my head. He tastes like vanilla and champagne. 

“You're going to have to try a little harder than that,” Mick says with a serious tone. We're already three thousand words in. It's time to slam ass.”

There was that reference to page numbers again. Only this time, it hit me. Of course. Just like the naïve souls in my own stories, I myself am only a character in some other author's tale of erotic lust. It all makes sense now. I mean, why would TEDx hold a special event just for some erotic author in Billings, Montana. And Elons Mugg? What kind of name is that? And why is this amazing scientist with vanilla lips and a giant cock such a hunk anyway? Clearly, I'm living much closer to the Tingularity than I originally guessed.

The ass-slamming commences with gusto. I do my best to give my author the best performance I can, even though it's my first time.

Mick and I are falling all over each other as we enter the bedroom, tearing each other's clothes off. I catch a glimpse of my body in the mirror and am surprised to find out that my middle-aged, slightly overweight body has transformed into that of handsome twink. This gives me the confidence to pop my ass up in the air like a filthy little slut and give my lover a look at what he has in store for him.

“Show me that little virgin asshole,” Mick grunted, “I wanna good look so I can remember what it looked like before I obliterated it with my cock.”

Before getting a start on that, Mick jams his face between my ass cheeks, tasting me deep inside with his tongue. The feeling his cool and sweet, loosening me and helping me to prepare for the invasion I'm about to receive. The way Mick moans, I know that he enjoys it, too. I'm turned on even more by how much this sexy scientist loves to give pleasure to me.

Once he's got me good and loose, Mick gives my ass a playful slap and positions himself behind me. I've been waiting my whole life for this. I think of how many times I've fantasized and written about how wonderful it must be to be filled by some hard bud's huge cock. And now it's finally happening. 

I tense as Mick tests my rectal rim with the head of his cock. “Easy now,” Mick coos soothingly, “Try to stay nice and relaxed.” I feel like a wild filly being saddled for the first time, and Mick is my handsome cowboy.

Mick increases the pressure on my hole and slips inside with a groan. There is a slight pinching sensation, but the warmth and fullness of my lover inside me is so good that the pain is barely noticeable. The involuntary twitching in my butthole begins again, but this time I hope it is giving Mic pleasure.

“Oh yeah,” he grunts, “I love that jumpy author butthole. Yeah, jumpy hole is the best.”

At first I'm slightly astonished by Mick's filthy bedroom talk. Then I consider how articulate he is onstage, and guess that he's just a man who always knows ho to express himself, no matter what the occasion.

As Mick's thrusts slowly intensify, I grit my teeth to help me bear up to the onslaught. Now Mick is reaming me through, splitting me open and hammering my prostate. I go cross-eyed with pleasure as Mick twists my nipples. I think I'm about to come, but suddenly Mick pops out of me flips me over on my back.

“You're not getting out of this that easy,” he says, bending forward and stuffing my cock in his mouth. Sure not to neglect my greedy butthole, he works my insides with two fingers while slurping my rod. Again, I'm about to come when Mick throws me another curve ball, flipping me over and ramming himself inside me before I even now what's happening. 

Mick is at it again, thrusting with mad passion, but this time I think he's going to lose control. I'm right. In a few seconds, Mick is mumbling incoherently, almost crying with gay ecstasy. Suddenly I feel may ass fill with gorgeous warm liquid, filling my with the most undeniable proof of love. The feeling is as magical as I knew it would be.

Mick reaches around and grabs my dick, but it only takes a few tugs to push me over the edge. With Mick still draining his passion in my ass, I come in streaming ropes all over Mick's bed, the manly aroma rising to both our nostrils. Mick and I both collapse helplessly in the cum.

Hours later, Mick and I are still cuddling in the dark as the first traces of dawn light up the Billings mountains. Normally, this would be the point where the characters make plans to live out their days together, but I remember that I probably only have a few sentences to live.

“One last chocolate milk?” I ask my lover.

“I've got the spoon right here.”


End file.
